The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated)

by William Shakespeare

  All men make faults, and even I in this,

  Authorizing thy trespass with compare,

  Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss,

  Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are;

  For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense--

  Thy adverse party is thy advocate--

  And 'gainst myself a lawful plea commence:

  Such civil war is in my love and hate

  That I an accessary needs must be

  To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me.

  Don’t be distressed at what you have done:

  Roses have thorns, and silver fountains have mud.

  Clouds and eclipses sometimes block the moon and sun,

  And disgusting worms live in the sweetest flower buds.

  Everyone has a fault, and even I, by

  Approving of your wrongs by using comparisons

  Am reducing and wrongly accounting for and

  Excusing your sins more than the sins themselves require.

  I am bringing the power of reason to your physical faults—

  And thus making the one you have wronged your advocate—

  By making a justifiable argument against myself.

  I am so at war within myself between love and hate,

  That it’s necessary to make myself a helper

  To the sweet thief who so painfully robs me.

  Let me confess that we two must be twain,

  Although our undivided loves are one:

  So shall those blots that do with me remain

  Without thy help by me be borne alone.

  In our two loves there is but one respect,

  Though in our lives a separable spite,

  Which though it alter not love's sole effect,

  Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love's delight.

  I may not evermore acknowledge thee,

  Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame,

  Nor thou with public kindness honour me,

  Unless thou take that honour from thy name:

  But do not so; I love thee in such sort

  As, thou being mine, mine is thy good report.

  I have to say that the two of us must separate,

  Even though our undivided love is like one:

  Our disgraces will stay with me

  And without your help, I will carry them alone.

  In our two loves there is only one consideration,

  But in our lives, despite everything, we must separate.

  Still, it does not alter the love

  So much as it steals away the time we can spend together.

  I can not greet you when we meet,

  For fear that my regretful guilt will embarrass you,

  And you should not be polite to me either,

  Because it will tarnish your good name.

  Don’t do that. I love you so much

  That I value your good reputation as if it were my own.

  As a decrepit father takes delight

  To see his active child do deeds of youth,

  So I, made lame by fortune's dearest spite,

  Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth.

  For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit,

  Or any of these all, or all, or more,

  Entitled in thy parts do crowned sit,

  I make my love engrafted to this store:

  So then I am not lame, poor, nor despised,

  Whilst that this shadow doth such substance give

  That I in thy abundance am sufficed

  And by a part of all thy glory live.

  Look, what is best, that best I wish in thee:

  This wish I have; then ten times happy me!

  Just like an elderly father enjoys

  Watching his active child do youthful things,

  I too, being lame in my misfortune,

  Take comfort in your worth and truth.

  Whether it is beauty, birth, wealth or intelligence,

  Or any of these, or all of them, or more,

  That you are entitled to and invested with,

  I attach my love to the fortune.

  Then I am not so lame, poor and despised.

  As long as this illusion seems real,

  Then I have enough in your abundance,

  And I live a little in your magnificence.

  Whatever is best, I wish that for you:

  If I have this wish, then I am ten times happier.

  How can my Muse want subject to invent,

  While thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my verse

  Thine own sweet argument, too excellent

  For every vulgar paper to rehearse?

  O, give thyself the thanks, if aught in me

  Worthy perusal stand against thy sight;

  For who's so dumb that cannot write to thee,

  When thou thyself dost give invention light?

  Be thou the tenth Muse, ten times more in worth

  Than those old nine which rhymers invocate;

  And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth

  Eternal numbers to outlive long date.

  If my slight Muse do please these curious days,

  The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise.

  How could I ever lack a subject to write about,

  When as long as you live, you pour into my words,

  A sweet subject too excellent

  To be written about on ordinary paper?

  You can thank yourself if you see anything in my

  Examination of you that is worthy in your eyes.

  Who could be so wordless they could not write about you,

  When you yourself give light to imagination?

  You are the tenth Muse, worth ten times more

  Than the other nine which poets call upon.

  Let whomever calls on you write

  Eternal lines to outlive the end of time.

  If my creative work satisfies the hard to please these days,

  The pain of writing will be mine, but you will have the praise.

  O, how thy worth with manners may I sing,

  When thou art all the better part of me?

  What can mine own praise to mine own self bring?

  And what is 't but mine own when I praise thee?

  Even for this let us divided live,

  And our dear love lose name of single one,

  That by this separation I may give

  That due to thee which thou deservest alone.

  O absence, what a torment wouldst thou prove,

  Were it not thy sour leisure gave sweet leave

  To entertain the time with thoughts of love,

  Which time and thoughts so sweetly doth deceive,

  And that thou teachest how to make one twain,

  By praising him here who doth hence remain!

  How can I praise the worth of your character,

  When you are the better half of me?

  How can I praise you without praising myself?

  And what else is it but praise for myself when I praise you?

  Because of this, let us live apart,

  And our dear love will not be of a single name,

  And through the separation I can give you

  The honor that you alone deserve.

  Oh, absence—you would be such a torment,

  If your painful moments did not permit me

  To fill the time with thoughts of love,

  So that time and my thoughts do sweetly deceive,

  And you teach me how to make one into two,

  By praising the one who does not remain here!

  Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all;

  What hast thou then more than thou hadst before?

  No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call;

  All mine was thine before thou hadst this more.

  Then if for my love thou my love receivest,

  I cannot blame thee for my love thou usest;

  But yet be blamed, i
f thou thyself deceivest

  By wilful taste of what thyself refusest.

  I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief,

  Although thou steal thee all my poverty;

  And yet, love knows, it is a greater grief

  To bear love's wrong than hate's known injury.

  Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows,

  Kill me with spites; yet we must not be foes.

  Take all of my loves, my love, yes—take them all.

  What do you have more of now than you had before?

  You have no love, my love, that you can call true love.

  All of my love was yours before you had this little bit more.

  So, if because of my love you receive love,

  I can not blame you for the love you’ve used.

  Still, you should be blamed, if you deceive

  By deliberately testing what you have refused from me.

  I will forgive your stealing from me, gentle thief,

  Even thought you are taking the little I have.

  And still, love knows, it causes more pain

  To be hurt by a lover than by someone who hates us.

  Love is graceful even when it looks bad:

  You can kill me with hate, but we will not be enemies.

  Those petty wrongs that liberty commits,

  When I am sometime absent from thy heart,

  Thy beauty and thy years full well befits,

  For still temptation follows where thou art.

  Gentle thou art and therefore to be won,

  Beauteous thou art, therefore to be assailed;

  And when a woman woos, what woman's son

  Will sourly leave her till she have prevailed?

  Ay me! but yet thou mightest my seat forbear,

  And chide try beauty and thy straying youth,

  Who lead thee in their riot even there

  Where thou art forced to break a twofold truth,

  Hers by thy beauty tempting her to thee,

  Thine, by thy beauty being false to me.

  Those little slights that freedom allows you

  When I am absent from your heart sometimes,

  Suit your beauty and youthful age well.

  Temptation goes wherever you are.

  You are gentle and so you make a nice prize,

  And you are good looking and will be pursued.

  And when a woman flirts with you, how could you

  Possibly ignore her until she has won you over?

  Oh, me! But still, please leave my own situation alone,

  And please try to keep your beauty and footloose youth in line,

  Although your excess may lead you to my mistress,

  Where you would break two promises:

  Hers to me by tempting her to you with your beauty,

  Yours to me by allowing your beauty to win her.

  That thou hast her, it is not all my grief,

  And yet it may be said I loved her dearly;

  That she hath thee, is of my wailing chief,

  A loss in love that touches me more nearly.

  Loving offenders, thus I will excuse ye:

  Thou dost love her, because thou knowst I love her;

  And for my sake even so doth she abuse me,

  Suffering my friend for my sake to approve her.

  If I lose thee, my loss is my love's gain,

  And losing her, my friend hath found that loss;

  Both find each other, and I lose both twain,

  And both for my sake lay on me this cross:

  But here's the joy; my friend and I are one;

  Sweet flattery! then she loves but me alone.

  You have her, but that is not the cause of my sorrows,

  Although it can be said I loved her dearly.

  That she has you is what’s making me miserable,

  And that loss of love touches me deeper.

  You are both loving in your wrong and so I will excuse you.

  You only love her because you know I love her.

  And for my sake, she deceives me,

  And puts up with you, my friend.

  If I lose you, my loss is her gain.

  And if I lose her, my friend has gained her.

  Both find each other, and I lose both together.

  And both of you cause me to feel so much pain.

  But here’s the happy part: my friend and I are one,

  So, there! Because of that, she only loves me.

  When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see,

  For all the day they view things unrespected;

  But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee,

  And darkly bright are bright in dark directed.

  Then thou, whose shadow shadows doth make bright,

  How would thy shadow's form form happy show

  To the clear day with thy much clearer light,

  When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so!

  How would, I say, mine eyes be blessed made

  By looking on thee in the living day,

  When in dead night thy fair imperfect shade

  Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stay!

  All days are nights to see till I see thee,

  And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.

  When I blink a lot, then my eyes feel better

  After viewing things of little value all day.

  But when I sleep, it’s you I see in my dreams,

  And when my eyes find you, they shimmer brightly in the dark.

  Then your shadow, which makes even shadows seem brighter,

  Can be seen easily and makes for a happy sight.

  In the clear day with much clearer light—

  When even the blind would see it—your shadow shines.

  Oh, can’t you see, my eyes would be so brightly blessed,

  To look on you in broad daylight?

  Still, in the dead of night, your imperfect image

  Stays on the inside of my eyelids during my deepest slumber.

  All days are night until I see you again,

  And nights are brighter than day when I see you in my dreams.

  If the dull substance of my flesh were thought,

  Injurious distance should not stop my way;

  For then despite of space I would be brought,

  From limits far remote where thou dost stay.

  No matter then although my foot did stand

  Upon the farthest earth removed from thee;

  For nimble thought can jump both sea and land

  As soon as think the place where he would be.

  But ah! thought kills me that I am not thought,

  To leap large lengths of miles when thou art gone,

  But that so much of earth and water wrought

  I must attend time's leisure with my moan,

  Receiving nought by elements so slow

  But heavy tears, badges of either's woe.

  If the dull substance of my flesh were thought,

  Then the great distance to you would not stop me.

  Then, despite the space between us, I would be brought

  From where I am to the far place where you stay.

  It would not matter that my foot rests

  On the farthest land from you,

  Because nimble thought could jump both sea and land

  As soon as I thought of the place where you would be.

  But, oh! The thought that I am not thought kills me!

  And I am not able to leap large lengths of miles when you are gone.

  There is so much earth and water placed between us.

  I groan and tolerate the slow passing of time,

  And receive nothing from elements that are sluggish,

  Except heavy tears, which are proof of my great sadness.

  The other two, slight air and purging fire,

  Are both with thee, wherever I abide;

  The first my thought, the other my desire,

  These present-absent with
swift motion slide.

  For when these quicker elements are gone

  In tender embassy of love to thee,

  My life, being made of four, with two alone

  Sinks down to death, oppress'd with melancholy;

  Until life's composition be recured

  By those swift messengers return'd from thee,

  Who even but now come back again, assured

  Of thy fair health, recounting it to me:

  This told, I joy; but then no longer glad,

  I send them back again and straight grow sad.

  The other two elements—light air and cleansing air—

  Are both with you wherever I am.

  Air represents my thoughts and fire represents my desire.

  They move between present and absent with a swift motion glide.

  When these quick elements are not with me,

  They are sending a sweet message of love to you.

  My life usually consists of four elements, and when left to only two

  I sink almost to death with the weight of depression

  Until the proper state of being is restored.

  When those swift messengers have returned from you,

  And come back again to assure me

  Of your good health as they describe it to me,

  I am happy to hear it, until I’m not happy again,

  And then I send them right back to you and grow depressed.

  Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war

  How to divide the conquest of thy sight;

  Mine eye my heart thy picture's sight would bar,

  My heart mine eye the freedom of that right.

  My heart doth plead that thou in him dost lie--

  A closet never pierced with crystal eyes—

  But the defendant doth that plea deny

  And says in him thy fair appearance lies.

  To 'cide this title is impanneled

  A quest of thoughts, all tenants to the heart,

  And by their verdict is determined

  The clear eye's moiety and the dear heart's part:

  As thus; mine eye's due is thy outward part,

  And my heart's right thy inward love of heart.

  My eye and my heart are at war with one another

  About how to divide the rights to your image.

  My eye wants to block your image from my heart,

  And my heart wants to block the eye’s right to your image.